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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102661">Mother's Meddling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername'>whatsacleverusername</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Disorder, Arguing, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Family Issues, Forced bisexuality, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It Makes Sense in Context, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), tfw your boyfriend is a psychologist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:02:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Family issues are a given for a rogue. Any rogue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Crane/Bookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mother's Meddling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sighing as he sets down his awl and thread, Edwin stretches and flexes the fingers of his right hand as he surveys his work. The fifth edition <i>Dracula</i> was very much a work in progress and still in concerning condition, but given its leather cover was all but disintegrated when Edwin first got it, it’s doing much better and he’s beyond relieved that it’s no longer in immediate risk of completely falling apart. Just as he leans back in his office chair, however, he’s startled by a sudden text alert, his relief being washed away by dread when he reads the message and, worse, the sender. <i>Sharon</i>. Before he can reply, saying now isn’t a good time for a call, that he’s very busy with work- not a lie, but not completely true either- and will schedule a time later, his phone rings and buzzes in his hand, giving him the feeling of holding some sort of live bomb. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he slowly slides the button to accept the call, hesitantly beginning to answer.</p><p>But before he can, the lovely, ever-so-condescending voice of his mother says, “you had me worried you weren’t going to pick up there for a second. I knew you would, but I worry, you know.”</p><p>“Er- Now isn’t, um-” Edwin stutters.</p><p>“I know, I know, you’re probably too busy for little old me,” Sharon says. “I promise I won’t keep you for too long, I just wanted to check in on my littlest duckling, make sure everything’s been alright for you.”</p><p>“I’m fine, truthfully, I was just-” Edwin tries again.</p><p>“How has your bookstore been fairing, dear?” she asks.</p><p>Feeling his chest tighten, Edwin has to force himself to stay quiet. It pains him to lie, not just to his mother, and not because of any moral hangups. Not of his own, at least. Not consciously. She’d drilled it into him and his siblings that lying was wrong, sinful even, drilled it into them with drastic measures at times- and yet <i>he</i> seems to be the only one that was impacted. Despite sitting here, openly lying- No, no, not lying… <i>Stretching the truth</i>. You’re simply stretching the truth. Calm down. She doesn’t know. Stop breathing like that.</p><p>“Edwin?” she asks with thinly veiled annoyance.</p><p>“Things are well,” he answers quickly. “We’ve recently received several older books that are in need of repairs, so-”</p><p>“Wonderful to hear!” she interrupts for a third time, her voice artificially sweet like children’s cough syrup. Just as he expected, but nevertheless catching him off guard as always, she adds, “and the dating game? Found any new lovely ladies?”</p><p>Holding his tongue for a moment, Edwin calmly says, “I like-”</p><p>“I know, dear, but you like women as well,” Sharon sighs. “You married one, after all. She wasn’t too bad. Certainly more than a few steps up from that Crane man you were s-”</p><p>“Jon is a <i>wonderful</i> man and a <i>lovely</i> partner,” Edwin quickly cuts in.</p><p>There’s a cold, deafening silence before she asks, “you’re still with him, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says meekly, all of the outrage that was growing in him gone just like that.</p><p>“I’ll never understand what you see in that old hick,” she says with disdain. “He’s far older than you, isn’t he?”</p><p>“I’m only four years older than him,” Edwin corrects timidly.</p><p>“It’s awful hard to tell,” she scoffs. “He looks like he was left out to dry in the sun for too long. Granted he’s still paler than a sheet. He’s dirt poor as well, right?”</p><p>“That doesn’t-” Edwin tries to say.</p><p>“<i>Right</i>?” she repeats.</p><p>“Y-Yes,” he surrenders.</p><p>“Spends it all on booze, if I had to guess,” she mumbles.</p><p>“Jon doesn’t drink anymore,” Edwin says.</p><p>“Probably sneaks it past you when you’re not looking, just like your brother,” she says. Before he can make any reply, she adds, “you never would’ve had that problem with Lydia. She was a good, nice, sensible girl that didn’t have to mooch off you. The two of you would’ve made wonderful parents.”</p><p>“I am <i>gay</i>, Sharon!” Edwin exclaims.</p><p>“But you like women, too,” she insists.</p><p>“That’s not-” With a sound of frustration, Edwin says, “you always do this! You always have to remind me of what I’ve done wrong, and what I could be, and- And- God<i>dammit</i>, Sharon, I am 42! I can make my own decisions!”</p><p>“You might be an adult, but you’re still <i>my</i> son,” Sharon snaps. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me! All I wanted to do was give you advice and make sure your life is as good as it can be, but-”</p><p>Cutting her off by hanging up the phone, Edwin drops the device on his desk and his head next to it. He stays like that for a moment, rubbing the back of his head and trying to still his breathing, only for his phone to ring again. Without looking, knowing he doesn’t need to, he declines the call, puts it on silent, and shoves it in one of the drawers of his work desk. Taking another moment to collect himself, he gets up with more force than he intended, the chair rolling backwards as he leaves the study and exits the bedroom, going down the first flight of stairs and hesitating when he reaches the door leading to the second. He can hear the telltale hushed swears of Jonathan still working in the basement, frowning to himself as he takes his hand off the doorknob and instead walks to the small library of bookshelves in the sitting room. He doesn’t need to subject Jonathan to his familial drama. He doesn’t deserve being forced to deal with that headache.</p><p>Pulling a small stool over to the shelves, Edwin begins removing the books from their shelves and carefully setting them in piles. They <i>were</i> sorted reverse alphabetically by their titles in German, but now they will be sorted by the first color word they mention to sate Edwin’s suddenly restless mind and hands. Then by the author’s birthplace. Then the last letter in the summary. Then the third number they mention. Then by the material of their covers. After rearranging the small library seven more times and still feeling anxious, Edwin moves his orderly efforts to the kitchen, doing the same to the small collection of cookbooks in one of the cabinets. He tries not to think about the fact he’d never been good at cooking, something he would consider humorous at any other moment in time, or all the times Jonathan had patiently tried to teach him. Or ruining more than a few family dinners. Or accidentally knocking over and shattering an expensive bottle of wine at his mother’s second wedding. Or letting one of his sisters' homemade birthday cakes burn in the oven. Or-</p><p>Forcing himself to abandon that train of thought, he moves to he and Jonathan’s bedroom, pointedly avoiding so much as looking at the entryway to his study as he begins rearranging the books on the small shelves built into his nightstand. The last thing he needs right now is the temptation to check his phone, knowing full well he’ll have a few missed calls and texts from his mother, probably a few from his brother Wilfred as well given he’s in the same house as her. Poor man has no doubt had to listen to her rant about Edwin continuing to ruin his own life, throwing his money away, destroying his future- Not that any of those things are new or surprising. Edwin has always been the family disappointment, after all. He’s always been too emotional, too curious, too caught up in his dreams and his books. His mother and, to a lesser extent, step-father were always happy to remind him of such. Always happy to imply it was his little 11 year old self’s fault his father was murdered via poisoning, and that he was lied to, being told he suffered a fatal heart attack. He just couldn’t get over his mother emotionally manipulating him until he could finally move away and get married to the first woman he convinced himself he loved romantically, just to get as far away from her as possible, wounding her ever so severely. How could he do that to her, after all the emotional and mental damage she caused him? How could he leave her alone with his step-father, and his older brother that still lives with them?</p><p>Putting <i>Grimm’s Fairy Tales</i> in its place on the bedside shelf, Edwin lifts his glasses to wipe at his eye without thinking, only just then realizing he’s begun crying. He takes his glasses off fully and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself to stop the tears, to get himself back under control, to stop being so emotional for <i>one damn minute</i>- He only succeeds in making himself cry more, trying to stifle whimpers and sobs as his well crafted, calm and collected but farcical demeanor gives away and shatters, letting the carefully hidden anger and sadness kept deep down spill out in hot, stinging tears rolling down his cheeks. Setting his glasses down on the nightstand, he sits on the side of the bed, holding his head in his hands and closing his eyes tight once again.</p><p> </p><p>Having been fully engrossed in his work for the better half of the evening, Jonathan is only distracted when he hears a faint, worrisome noise two floors up as the bubbling chemicals quiet and he watches, setting down his pencil and listening closer. Reaffirming his concern, he hears Francis, one of the crows, cawing from the door to the basement stairs. With a grimace, he extinguishes the burner he’d been working with and checks his notes then puts a stabilizing agent into his concoction, frowning further as he briefly watches it still before climbing the stairs. Tapping the door to alert the crow on the other side, he opens it and allows Francis to perch on his shoulder as he quickly makes his way up the second flight of stairs and hurries towards the bedroom. He hesitates only briefly, worrying how long he’d been ignoring his lover, before pushing his selfish thoughts to the side and stepping in.</p><p>Lifting his arm to let Francis flutter over to the dresser, Jonathan silently sits beside Edwin, trying to gauge the best way to go about comforting him. He doesn’t wonder for long, though, as Edwin soon leans against him, twisting around to hide his face against Jonathan’s chest and muffle his crying in the other’s shirt. His frown continuing to deepen, the younger man slowly wraps his arms around the other, helping him curl up in his lap as Jonathan gently runs the palm of his hand against Edwin’s shoulder. Neither say anything, Jonathan not wanting to push Edwin to speak if he doesn’t want to, eventually leaning his head against Edwin’s for additional contact, knowing the inventor favors touch among methods of affection.</p><p>When Edwin finally speaks, he’s very hushed, all but whispering, “I… Apologize if I interrupted you…”</p><p>“Not at all,” Jonathan reassures, quiet as well. Letting the silence return for a moment, observing what of the distressed man he can, he asks, “Sharon?”</p><p>“She called you a <i>hick</i>,” Edwin mumbles bitterly.</p><p>“She always does,” Jonathan says. “She isn’t the first, either.”</p><p>“She told me to leave you,” Edwin continues.</p><p>“She always does,” Jonathan repeats.</p><p>“She says I can do better than you,” Edwin finishes.</p><p>“You c-” Not finishing that statement, knowing it won’t help no matter how true it is, Jonathan simply sighs and holds Edwin a little tighter.</p><p>Freeing an arm, Edwin wraps it around Jonathan as well, nuzzling his head under the other’s chin and saying, “I don’t <i>want</i> ‘better than you,’ Jon, but she refuses listen.”</p><p>“She <i>always</i> does,” Jonathan repeats once more.</p><p>Nodding in agreement, Edwin falls silent again, leaning further against Jonathan, who takes the hint and moves them both to lay properly on the bed. Quickly moving in closer to Jonathan, Edwin returns to hiding his face as he feels himself once more beginning to tear up for some unknown reason. He knows the reason, really, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.</p><p>“She’s wrong, you know,” Jonathan quietly says, as if reading his mind. “You’re not foolish. Far from it.”</p><p>Edwin makes a small noise of disbelief, turning his head away some.</p><p>“Your familial relationships are troubled, but that isn’t your fault,” Jonathan adds. “I… I’m not personally well versed in family matters, but… You don’t have to compare yourself to them. You’re <i>not</i> them.”</p><p>Trying to find some way to reply, Edwin says, “I didn't mean to get you wrapped up in this fallout…”</p><p>“I’ve put you through things you didn’t have to be put through,” Jonathan reminds.</p><p>“I wanted to help you,” Edwin says defensively.</p><p>“So do I,” Jonathan says. “We’re <i>both</i> rather stubborn about that, at least.”</p><p>Surrendering a small chuckle, Edwin says, “I suppose we are…”</p><p>“I mean it, though,” Jonathan states. “You aren’t your siblings or your parents. You don’t have to please any of them. Don’t let her make you feel inferior. You truly aren’t, darlin’.”</p><p>Smiling a little at the pet name, Edwin slightly sniffles and tucks his arm under Jonathan, hugging him closely and putting his head back under his boyfriend’s chin. He sighs gently, idly tracing shapes into Jonathan’s upper arm as they lay together.</p><p>Moving his head enough to not be muffled, Edwin quietly says, “thank you.”</p><p>Jonathan <i>mm</i>s softly in reply, gently shifting Edwin some to allow himself to lay on his back without disrupting the other man too much.</p><p>“<i>I mean it</i>,” Edwin echoes. Laying his cheek against Jonathan’s chest, he smiles a little again, musing, “I wonder if more folks know about the benefits of having a professionally trained psychologist as a partner…”</p><p>Snorting, Jonathan deadpans, “not in this city, they don’t.”</p><p>Laughing quietly, Edwin says, “I suppose not…” Moving his arm to rest across Jonathan as well, he adds, “I love you. Very much.”</p><p>“You, too,” Jonathan says, struggling with the words as always.</p><p>To make up for it, he cups Edwin’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against it as he kisses the top of his lover’s head. Sighing happily, Edwin sniffles again and snuggles closer, Jonathan’s surprisingly nice cuddles always helping him calm down. A part of him also realizes some of it is emotional exhaustion, but he chooses to focus more on the fact that he and Jonathan are here together, regardless of what his mother wants and thinks. That’s one thing he doesn’t have to prove to his family and compete for, at least.</p>
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